


But It's Still Not a Date

by beetle



Series: DAMSEL [3]
Category: Deadpool (2016), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: AU, AU for Deadpool, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Human, Bottom Wade Wilson, But his morality is markedly skewed, Daddy Kink, Deepthroating, Dom Peter, Dom/sub Undertones, Drag Queens, First Kiss, First Time Blow Jobs, Friends to Lovers, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Identity, Gender Issues, Genderfluid, Gentleman Peter Parker, He'd do horrible things in Wade's name and to keep Wade safe, Human Wade Wilson, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Injured Wade Wilson, Light Angst, M/M, Mentions of Wade Wilson's Drag Career, Morally Ambiguous Peter, Ms. Vagina Saskatchewan, Omnisexual Peter Parker, Past Nathan Summers/Wade Wilson, Peter Parker has powers, Peter Parker is not a moral idiot, Peter knows right from wrong, Post-Coital Cuddling, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Protective Wade, Sassy Wade, Sometimes he just doesn't care, Spideypool - Freeform, Sub Wade Wilson, Sweet Peter, Top Peter Parker, Unstable Peter, Virgin Wade Wilson, Wade has no powers but Peter's the fragile one, Wade instinctively understands all of this, Wade is no hero (yet) but his moral compass is true, falling asleep together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 22:42:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8419996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetle/pseuds/beetle
Summary: It’s still not a date. Ms. Vagina Saskatchewan’s neither cheap nor easy, it has to be said. Then again, Vagina’s never met anyone like Peter the Spider-Man. And neither has her alter-ego, Wade Wilson.(Um, it kinda helps to have read the previous story in the series, “Damsel,” but if you didn’t, the TL;DR is: drag performer Vagina Saskatchewan, a.k.a. Wade Wilson, was jumped in an alley after a show and rescued by some avenging weirdo who called himself “The Spider-Man.” Said avenging weirdo, who was apparently named Peter, in his non-avenging hours, stayed with Vagina throughout her visit to the E.R., and—while insisting her rescue was their “first date,” and the E.R. their second—took Vagina up on her hastily-made decision to let him accompany her home.)But it’s still not a date.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pyroperception](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyroperception/gifts).



> Notes/Warnings: AU. A sequel to “Damsel.”

 

“But it’s _still_ not a date, Mr. Peter Spiderman,” _Ms_. Vagina Saskatchewan reminded her hero as she unlocked the door to her tiny studio apartment in the Bronx. “First, second, _or_ third.”

 

Leaning against the wall to the left of the door, long, rangy arms crossed over his narrow chest, Peter gave every impression of smiling behind his silly mask.

 

“Says _you_ , gorgeous,” he replied in his low, amused tenor, then chuckled. “Maybe my standards just aren't real high, but tonight was, except for the part where you were attacked, the _best_ first date I’ve ever had. And the E.R., except for the bit where you had to get stitches, was the best _second_ date.”

 

Vagina was careful not to snort as she got her door, which always stuck, even when the weather wasn’t humid, open. “Yikes. In that case, _never_ tell me about your dating history, Peter, for I fear it shall make me sad,” she said dryly, occasioning another chuckle from the red-and-blue-clad hero. Sending a brief, but considering glance his way, Vagina sighed, stifling a yawn as she let herself into the apartment, flicking the light switch next to the doorpost and smiling a little at her small, cluttered, but very-much- _hers_ space.

 

Then she stepped in, taking a moment to fully inhabit that space, once more . . . before tossing her stupid little purse at her cramped computer desk and kicking off her sexy, but ridiculous and precarious stilettos. “Well?” she said, looking over her shoulder at Peter, who’d straightened and was obviously about to make an unexpectedly quiet, ignominious exit. But at her impatient interrogative, he looked back in palpable surprise. Vagina sniffed haughtily, but carefully—in deference to her busted nose—and rolled her eyes. “Get _in here_ and close the door, Peter, before the neighbor’s cockroaches follow you in.”

 

Grinning so wide behind his mask, Vagina could see it, Peter Spiderman quickly followed her inside and shut the door.

 

#

 

Half an hour later, Vagina emerged from her tiny bathroom in a waft of fruit-scented steam, toweling dry her slightly curling, chin-length hair and wearing an over-sized—even on her broad, tall frame—hot-pink Minnie Mouse t-shirt over loose, bubblegum-pink drawstring sleep-pants.

 

“Well, my nightly facial-routine was super-interesting, thanks to the nose,” she announced, then fell silent at the sight before her, wide-eyed, then smiling just a little.

 

Sitting on her folded-up futon in front of her television— _The Carol Burnett Show_ was playing at a relatively reasonable volume—partly-finished mug of chamomile half-slipping from his long, lax fingers, Peter Spiderman was slumped forward, snoring softly, his free arm stretched along the back of the futon. His mask was pushed halfway up the high, straight bridge of his nose, his full, pink, slightly-parted lips almost puckered. His chin was surprisingly square and cleft like a movie star’s, his jaw strong and prominent in an underfed-way.

 

His breathing was even and slow.

 

For long minutes, Vagina stood, struck dumb for some reason, at the sight of her hero asleep so trustingly in her living/bedroom. Her awareness of her still-aching face and tired body slipped to the back of her mind as she finally crossed the small but homey space between them on bare, noiseless feet.

 

In moments, she was dropping her damp towel on the arm of the futon and settling carefully against her sleeping hero, leaning into him with a soft sigh and tucking her long legs up next to her as she leaned her weary head on his shoulder like she had in the E.R. waiting area.

 

“Mmwhaah?” he burbled, barely waking, but curling his arm around her shoulders protectively, almost possessively. Smiling a bit wider, despite the lingering pain of her face—even with Vicodin making everything shiny and happy, her splinted nose and stitched-up lips still hurt like a _bastard_ —she reached across him and plucked the cooling mug of chamomile from his fingers, finishing it herself before placing the mug on the floor and just under the futon, so neither of them would step on it, later.

 

(The tea had been the only thing he’d accepted from her—despite offers of a home-cooked breakfast, or at least some frozen pizza—before she’d seen him parked on her futon and enrapt in TVLAND’s reruns from yester-year, then gone to take her shower.)

 

Then she was cuddling back into him again as he continued to burble sleepily, adorably, snuffling like a tired piglet.

 

“Go to sleep, Peter Spiderman, and don’t worry about it,” she murmured, draping an arm across him and attempting to focus on one of her other heroes’—the _divine_ Ms. Burnett—shenanigans as Peter settled against her with a mumble-y snort, his chin coming to rest on her head. It wasn’t long, however, before the credits were rolling and Vagina was blinking heavily, lulled by the feelings of safety and companionship. And by the fever-hot heat of Peter’s rangy, super-strong body.

 

It was . . . _nice_ . . . so Vagina wasn’t inclined to overthink things.

 

“’S plenny bacon onna fire ‘scape, y’know. . . ?” Peter informed her on the back of a snore. Vagina chuckled, her eyes slipping shut as she inhaled deeply—Peter smelled like clean sweat, apples, and hand-sanitizer—then exhaled slow and comfortably.

 

“I know there is, Petey-pie . . . ‘night-night.”

 

“Mmm. . . ?”

 

“Still _not_ a date, though.”

 

“Nnnn. . . .”

 

#

 

“I can _feel_ you staring at me, Peter,” Vagina yawned, blinking shuttered sunlight out of her tired eyes some hours later.

 

"Considering how hard and how long I've been staring . . . that's no surprise." The arm around her shoulders tightened a little and the hand holding hers linked their fingers, stroking the back of her own scraped up knuckles with a gentle, gloveless thumb. "You're really quite striking, Ms. Saskatchewan. I could look at you all day as my job, and _still_ stare at you some more during my off-hours."

 

Vagina hummed, pleased and blushing, and curling her fingers into Peter's stretchy spidey-suit. "I know. But staring persistently at an innocent girl while she _sleeps_ is borderline-stalkerish."

 

“Sue me. I like to look at beautiful things,” Peter Spiderman said, yawning, too. His cheek settled on the crown of her head as he hummed contentedly. “And you are _by far_ the most  _beautifulest_ thing I’ve seen in a long time.”

 

“Hmm . . . bet you say that to _all_ the girls after you’ve saved their lives and spent the night at their places.”

 

“You’d be the first.”

 

Blinking and squinting, Vagina angled her head so she was looking up into blank white lenses. The mask was pulled all the way down, once more, and she pouted. “What? The first girl you've said that to? The first girl whose life you’ve saved? Or the first you’ve spent the night with?” she asked in a hoarse, Wade-ish sort of rumble that made her sigh. She supposed it was _that time_ , again. And past, really.

 

“I’m gonna plead the fifth,” Peter said easily, and Vagina—no, _Wade_ . . . she . . . _he_ was mostly _Wade_ , this morning. A switch-over that’d happened almost entirely while Vagina had slept in Peter’s strong arms—snorted wryly, noting that though his nose still hurt, it wasn’t in agony. Neither was the rest of his tired, but relaxed body.

 

And it _was_ , most definitely, _his_.

 

 _For_ now, Vagina whispered teasingly, subsiding with a smirk. _Go get 'im, Tiger._

 

 _Curiouser and curioser_ , Wade thought, a bit _disoriented_ by the easy  _reorienting_ of his gender. He usually had to make a mental-psychic effort to _be Wade_ after spending the night as his alter-ego (though it was _always_ easy to slip into _Vagina’s_  sassy, discotheque-headspace, no matter what). That reordering, when it happened, was usually a painstaking and hours-long process that almost always involved escalating body dysphoria, hysterical tears, and railing against a cruel and perverse universe.

 

But this time, the transition had been quiet and surprisingly without drama or acrimony between his two halves. And though Wade felt a ghost of his usual post-reorienting dysphoria, it was at about its average, every-day levels, not the usual operatic high-note of a post-Vagina morning.

 

“Pleading the fifth, eh? Regarding what, scaredy-cat?” Wade eventually asked with a game, but brief grin up at his hero. Being two people in one body was just plain _weird_ and confusing as _fuck,_  and Wade, for the most part, just tried to roll with it. “How many other girls you’ve saved? Or how many you’ve spent the night drooling on?”

 

“Heh. Both. And I _did not_ drool on you.” Peter hugged Wade closer, but continued to regard him steadily, head tilted in consideration. “You seem . . . _different_ , this morning, ‘Gina.”

 

“Do I?” Wade couldn’t help tensing up in Peter’s arms, or the instinctive glance away, at the television, which was now advertising the Shake-Weight on mute. Then he forced himself to look back up into Peter’s lenses. “How so?”

 

“Dunno. You're not _quite_ . . . or maybe _more of_ . . . damn. I . . . I s’pose . . . _oh_. Huh.” Tilting his head in the opposite direction, now, Peter smiled a little, just enough to crease the fabric of his mask. “Um. _Wade Wilson,_ I presume?”

 

Surprised, Wade blinked and shivered, a flush rising to his cheeks as he looked away again. At their linked fingers. Peter’s hand was even larger than Wade’s—almost freak-show large—with long, blunt-tipped fingers, bitten-down nails, and calluses in strange places.

 

“Yeah. More than I’m still _Vagina_ , at any rate,” he admitted quietly. “I’m just, uh . . . your friendly, neighborhood Wade Winston Wilson: some-time drag-performer and awkward queer-boi from Saskatchewan.” Sighing, lips quirked in a wry and rueful smirk that would’ve been sexy and provocative on _Vagina_ , but was just snarky and defensive on _Wade_ , he managed to swallow his trepidation and wariness enough to look up at his hero again. He couldn’t read those lenses at all, but Peter wasn’t smiling anymore. “Still think I’m the most beautifulest thing you’ve seen in a long time?”

 

Peter regarded him silently for a while, the _weight_ of that regard almost a physical thing as he eventually leaned a bit closer.

 

“Yup,” he whispered, tense and _in_ tense. _Hungry_. “Even more beautifuler than ever.”

 

Smiling slowly and blushing again, Wade bit his stitched-up lip carefully. “Even with stitches, a busted schnozz, and a raccoon-mask?”

 

“ _Oh_ , yeah.” Peter leaned his forehead against Wade’s, his breath shuddering slightly as he inhaled. “And you smell . . . _really_ good, Wade.”

 

Shivering, himself, at the casual, but pointed use of his name, Wade’s eyes went half-mast, his smile turning crooked and almost bashful. “ _Herbal Essences_ is the bomb-diggity, my arachnid friend.”

 

“At least on _you_ , it is,” Peter agreed with another happy hum. “Say, here’s a pressing question I’m sure you hear a lot, but—”

 

“Yes,” Wade breathed leaning closer to Peter, who seemed surprised to say the least.

 

“Uh . . . you don’t know what I was gonna ask.”

 

“I assume it wasn’t for the PIN to my bankcard?” Wade snorted. “Even if it was, Baby Boy, I’ve got, like, thirty-seven dollars to my name, at the moment. So, have-at, if you need it that badly. Four-eight-nine-one.”

 

“I don’t. Need it that badly, I mean. The thirty-seven bucks, that is.” _Peter_ was the one blushing, now, Wade knew, and it boosted his confidence markedly. “I, uh, was gonna ask if I could, um, kiss you.”

 

“I know. And I gave you my answer. Though, there’s a caveat,” Wade added firmly.

 

“Yes.”

 

Straight, dark brows quirking, Wade grinned. “You dunno what I was gonna _ask_ , Peter.”

 

“Yeah, I _do_. And here’s my answer again, in plainer terms,” he murmured, letting go of Wade’s hand to hook his first two fingers under the hem of his mask. A moment later, that mask was draped over the top of Wade’s television, where Peter had flung it, and Wade was gazing up into wide hazel-green eyes that danced with mirth even as they sparkled with anxiety. “Ta-da!”

 

Wade stared up into Peter’s glittering, intent eyes—he was hawkishly handsome, rather than boyish, his face angular and strong-featured and surrounded by thick, grown-out, near-black hair that spilled onto a high, clear forehead. Thick, dark eyebrows, a narrow nose, wide mouth, flat-planed cheekbones, and those arresting, deep-set hazel eyes completed the surprisingly _attractive_ picture—for long moments before reaching up to cup the other man’s stubbly, square jaw in his hand, brushing his thumb across a full lower lip.

 

“ _God_ , you’re _gorgeous_ ,” Wade breathed without thinking, then turned scarlet. But then, so did Peter, so . . . it wasn’t _too_ mortifying. “How can you cover a face that fine up with a _mask_ , Petey?”

 

Peter’s eyebrows quirked up and his lips twitched. “Some’d say I was doin’ the city a service, keepin’ this mug under wraps.”

 

“And _who_ would those people be? The legally blind?” Wade snorted. “I got news for ya, Pete: You’re _hot_. You had to have been beating off dick with a club since puberty.”

 

Peter’s nose wrinkled. “Clearly you didn’t know me in high school.”

 

“What? Like, two years ago?” Wade snorted again and Peter grinned.

 

“How old do you think I _am_ , Mr. Wilson?”

 

“I dunno . . . nineteen? Twenty?”

 

“I’m twenty-six. Twenty-seven in a couple months.”

 

Wade blinked, truly nonplussed for a moment. Then he let out his held breath. “Fuck. That's not what _I_ woulda guessed.”

 

Peter made a weird face, kind of sheepish, and chuckled. “What, uh . . . too old? Too young? What?”

 

“No, it’s just . . . I figured we were about the same age.” Wade shrugged, then smiled a little. “Kinda glad we’re _not_. I’ve always liked . . . slightly older guys.”

 

“Uh . . . how slight is _slightly_? By which I mean . . . are you legal?” Peter asked warily, bluntly. Wade smirked.

 

“Maaaaybe,” he said, and Peter leaned into Wade’s touch before fixing him with a solemn gaze.

 

“Oh, no. We’re definitely _not_ playing _that_ game, gorgeous. Tell me, _right now_ , you’re _at least_ eighteen?”

 

Smirk widening, Wade, ran his thumb oh, so slowly across that plush lower lip again, noting the way Peter’s hazel eyes fluttered and darkened with a look that, unlike those white lenses, was all-too-easy to read. “Hmm . . . your insistence makes one curious as to why me being legal is _so_ important to you, Mr. Spiderman. . . .”

 

“ _Wade_. . . .” that low tenor dropped down to a husky and commanding near-baritone, and Wade shivered pleasantly, finally letting his hero off the hook.

 

(At least, that’s how he spun it to _himself_ , and _not_ that Peter was, after such a short time, so effortlessly _Daddying_ the _fuck_ out of him and making him _like it_.)

 

“I’m twenty.” Shrugging, Wade raked his teeth over his lower lip again, trying for sexy, but feeling very awkward, once more. Feeling every inch _Wade Wilson_. “For the next ten months, anyway.”

 

Peter’s eyes narrowed for a moment, then he was smiling crookedly, haplessly, and unmistakably relieved. “Good. Is it wrong that I’m kinda turned-on by the fact that I’m about to be robbing the cradle?”

 

“ _So_ wrong,” Wade averred, nodding. Then he blinked. “Uh—wait, _wha—mmph!_ ”

 

Wade lost the rest of his question somewhere on Peter’s soft, teasing lips as they pressed his own gently and sweetly. His rough, large hand came up to cup Wade’s jaw, tilting it upward slightly as his lips parted. He lapped at and tickled Wade’s lips patiently, until Wade tentatively opened his mouth. Then Wade was moaning helplessly as the kiss jumped to a whole different level of OHMYGODSHIVERS! with the wet, somewhat aggressive glide of Peter’s tongue—which _still_ tasted like _Snapple Apple_ and stale cookies—as it mapped his mouth eagerly. Explored it slowly and possessed it utterly, all but reciting poetry with the slick, yearning slide of his lips and savoring, eloquent thrusts of that demanding, dominant tongue.

 

Wade, in his short, but varied life—and Vagina in hers—had _never_ been kissed like this.

 

“Oh, my _God_!” he gasped when, minutes—hours?—later, Peter’s attention turned to Wade’s stubbly jaw and throat, tasting, teasing, and leaving what were no doubt _livid_ hickeys. It stung in the _best_ way . . . made Wade groan and shift closer—but not close enough—to Peter. “Please,” he exhaled, eyes shut tight as he panted, and burning-tingling electricity shot from where Peter’s mouth, teeth, and tongue wreaked pleasant havoc on his throat, to the rest of Wade . . . most especially his groin.

 

“ _Please_. . . .” he begged again, practically whining as Peter’s hand left off cupping his face, to slide down Wade’s chest and tenderly, gently over his still-aching ribs, before finally grasping his hip, tight and urgent, then sliding over till it was gripping his ass and squeezing.

 

“You’re so _amazing_ , Wade . . . you _feel so_. . . _unh,_ ” Peter grunted hungrily, desperately, squeezing Wade’s ass harder and urging him closer.

 

It was pure instinct that made Wade sit up and smoothly straddle Peter’s lap like he’d done so a thousand times before. They both made low sounds of satisfaction at the better and increased contact. Then both of Peter’s hands were on Wade’s ass, his mouth locked onto Wade’s once more as they pressed against each other needily. Wade’s hard-on—which he’d woken up with, as per always, but it was suddenly _quite_ insistent—seeking the heavenly friction of Peter’s ribbed spidey-suit and ridiculous abs.

 

Peter’s own hard-on—which was indeed _very_ hard, and very _on_ —was under Wade’s ass, and making itself well-heard with every one of Peter’s sharp, powerful, but truncated thrusts. For such an economically-built man, he felt _ridiculously_ huge to Wade. Like, maybe even _Nate_ -huge.

 

“Wade, _sweetheart_ ,” Peter sighed into their kiss, his tongue licking at and tracing Wade’s parted, aching, tingling lips till Wade whimpered.

 

“ _Peter_. . . .”

 

“Can we—?” Another thrust, sharper and harder than the others, made the rest of Peter’s unspoken question quite clear. Wade flushed and moaned, his hands clutching tight and nervous on Peter’s hard, wide shoulders. He could barely think beyond the scalding tidal wave of _want_ that sought to erase his sense.

 

“I—I dunno, I . . . I’ve never—” his flush was almost painful, his face gone up in flames hotter than Hell, itself, as he looked down at the scant space between their heaving chests. The only thing he wanted as much as that hot, _huge_ hardness maybe driving into him like a jackhammer into pavement, was to perhaps . . .  _not_ have that happen. At least not _yet_. He'd spent _far_ more time fearing such an act—since the onset of puberty, in fact, and the resulting . . .  _attention_  that started coming from some of his father's creepier friends—than craving it. Though he _did_ crave it. Craved _Peter_ , with a ferocity that took his breath away. “I’m kinda . . . I mean, I really like _this_ , a-and _you_ , but I’m not quite ready to—”

 

“It's okay, Wade. I understand,” Peter said, smiling and stealing a quick, sizzler of a kiss before leaning his forehead against Wade’s. “And I _apologize_ for . . . being something less than a gentleman in my haste. I just, uh . . . kinda forgot myself because you’re so . . . _fuck_ , so _gorgeous_ and I can’t seem to stop _touching you_. . . .” which Peter went on to prove by squeezing Wade’s ass again, before moving his out-sized hands up to Wade’s hips. “But please don’t let my . . . perhaps unseemly desire for you suggest that I don’t find you eminently _worth_ _waiting for_. Please don’t let my _actions_ suggest that I wouldn’t wait _forever_ , if need be, to have you in _whatever_ way you want.”

 

Shivering again, Wade wrapped his arms around Peter’s neck as he fought off another rush of blood to his face. “Jeez, Petey, why do you have to be so fucking _sweet_ about it?” he demanded, half-laughing, half-sulking. “You haven’t even tried to go _under the blouse_ , as it were. Some red-blooded, American male _you_ are!”

 

Peter huffed a laugh out of his nose and suddenly, with a dizzying shift, he bounced up, turning their bodies mid-bounce, so that they landed with Peter prone on his back, beneath a wide-eyed Wade.

 

They blinked at each other, Peter with fake-innocence, even as his hands inched their way down the back of Wade’s drawstring sleep-pants. “I can assure you . . . the very _last_ thing I am, at this particular moment, is _sweet_ , Wade Wilson.”

 

Wade bit back a loud moan as those callused, hot hands kneaded his flesh intently and those hazel-green eyes devoured his smallest expression and reaction. “Fuck, _Peter_. . . .”

 

“But it’s like I said: we can do _whatever_ you want, whether it’s everything or nothing at all. _You’re_ runnin’ the show, here, sweetheart. Until and unless you tell me otherwise,” Peter promised, his low voice gone solemn, once again, his kiss-swollen lips seeming to shape every word in slow, sensual motion. Wade licked his own lips and found himself leaning down to capture Peter’s, once more.

 

“I’m not ready for . . . for the full magilla. But I _have done stuff_ with guys . . . well . . . _a_ guy. Or two. Namely my, um, ex-boyfriend, Nate. . . .” Wade blushed and bit his injured lip a little harder than he meant to, wincing at the sharp pain and his own under-exaggeration. Of course, if, at some point, a discussion about Wade’s most recent former- _Daddy—_ or the Daddies _before_ him _—_ ever became necessary, it sure as heck wouldn’t happen at a time like _this_. “Anyway. Um. I may not have had p-penetrative sex, but I _have_ had oral sex. Um. To . . . some modest measure of acclaim . . . anyway! Maybe we could. . . .” blushing even brighter, Wade trailed off, but pushed his aching dick against Peter’s, meeting the other man’s gaze shyly. “I c-could make you feel _good_ , Peter. If you want. . . .”

 

Peter smiled with his eyes, the crow's feet around them crinkling, though his mouth was still that solemn, gentle line.

 

“You already do, Wade Winston Wilson,” he said, nuzzling Wade’s injured nose so lightly, he barely felt it. Then, in another one of those dizzying moves—this one made Wade’s futon creak tiredly—Peter switched their positions, so that he was on top of Wade and pinning the larger man’s body firmly. Those hazel eyes were still hungry and intent. “And so do _you_ , Vagina Saskatchewan.”

 

Grinning, now, Wade managed to thrust up against Peter, just enough to make those brilliant eyes roll back and a moan escape those sinful lips.

 

“I can make you feel _even better_ , then,” Vagina came forward to whisper, her lips curved in a pouty, _sexy_ smirk. “It’s the least my hero deserves, right?”

 

“Hmm, then I’m _really_ glad it was _me_ patrolling the area, last night, instead of that asshole Johnny Storm.” Peter snorted, rolling his eyes, and Vagina chuckled, throaty and low, pulling her hero down into a lewd, wet kiss that had Peter groaning and pinning her so hard with his thrusts that _she_ was amazed she didn’t come in her pants. . . .

 

Then Wade used Vagina’s pouting distraction to elbow his way to the fore, again, in the midst of Peter sucking on his tongue, then his lips.

 

“I meant what I said, y’know? I can make you feel _good_ ,” Wade swore breathlessly, as Peter kissed his way down to Wade’s throat and collar bone, one hand sliding up under the Minnie Mouse t-shirt to roll Wade’s left nipple between his rough fingertips before pinching and stroking it to pebbled hardness. “J-Jee- _ZUS_! I _wanna_ make you feel good!”

 

“And _I_ wanna make _you_ feel good, beautiful,” Peter said, as Wade arched up into him with a long moan. Chuckling, Peter pushed up the over-sized t-shirt and laid random kisses all over Wade’s chest, every so often switching up his game to tease Wade’s sensitive nipples with lips, teeth, and tongue, until Wade was squirming and whining. Then Peter was ghosting gentler kisses across Wade’s aching ribs. “Jesus, sweetheart . . . you’re _so_  lovely . . . so _sweet_ and _wonderful_ . . . I’m just really glad I could save you before those assholes hurt you _worse_. . . .”

 

The worry and _what-ifs_ in Peter's voice and eyes were like storm-clouds: dark, and edged with jagged, angry, rather _scarifying_ lightning. For a moment, Wade wondered what Peter would have done to those bullying homophobes if they'd actually done _real_ damage to Wade and his alter-ego. Somehow, he doubted those four creeps would've left that alley in anything other than a meat-wagon. “Hush, Petey . . . you _saved me_ , and that’s what matters . . . you’re my _hero_ , Baby Boy . . . _always_.” Wade ran his hand over Peter’s shaggy, dark hair as the other man drew in a breath that shook and buried his face in Wade’s bruised, tender abs for a few moments.

 

Then he was glancing up at Wade with eyes that flickered and yearned, all cyclonic _sturm und drang_ , before he moved lower nuzzling Wade’s hard-on through the sizable wet-spot on his pants, sucking on the sodden cloth for a minute with silent relish. His piercing gaze never left Wade's.

 

It was undoubtedly the hottest thing Wade had ever had happen to him.

 

Eyes wide, he nodded once and complied when Peter hoarsely commanded: “Lift up your hips for me, sweetheart.”

 

When the drawstring pants went sailing over Peter’s bony left shoulder, Peter smirked and kissed the wet, red tip of Wade’s dick, flicking his tongue out to tease and taste, until Wade—entranced as he was at the sight of Peter’s mouth on his dick—flopped back to the futon, eyes shut tight once more as he fought not to come all over Peter’s face.

 

Then, for a tortuous eternity, he was just floating in sensation: Peter licking at his cock and moaning as if he was enjoying the taste _and_ the act. Peter sucking at the tip, even applying his teeth oh, so gently, until he was forced to hold Wade’s bucking hips down. Peter’s fingers biting deep into those hips, bruising-hard, as his mouth slid slowly, carefully down Wade’s dick, breath hitching as he eventually took Wade part-way down his throat . . . then further, still, till his face was pressed into Wade’s pubes.

 

“Oh, God, _PETER_!” Wade choked out, and felt Peter smile around him. Then, the hero was easing his grip on Wade’s hips with one last, permissive squeeze. He hummed expectantly and Wade surged _up_ . . . rather, _down_ Peter’s throat with a desperate cry. His hips bucked and thrashed wildly as he tried to shove himself deeper and deeper down the willing, fluttering, silken confines of Peter’s esophagus.

 

Peter’s hand came up to fondle Wade’s hot, heavy balls, then tickle his index finger along Wade’s perineum and the very edge of his waiting— _throbbing_ , what the fuck?!—rim. With a shout, Wade’s body arched and tensed when Peter’s finger pressed firmly against, but did not breach his opening. His entire body seemed to seize and shudder as an electric rush swept through him, prickling along his skin like a million fireflies and igniting something deep within him. All in one infinite moment that, with its passing, saw Wade come harder than he ever had in his life, every _atom_ of him burning with a sharp, sweet, secret fire as he continued to shout, ragged and helpless under the assault of such raw, but exquisite pleasure. It and Peter seemed to be having their way not just with Wade’s battered, but sensation-seeking—sensation- _inundated_ —body, but with his soul, as well.

 

 _We’re_ such _a goner_ , Vagina sighed in their briefly shared headspace. _Peter Spiderman’s gonna be the wreck and ruin of us._

 

 _Maybe. Or maybe . . . he’ll be something even_ better, Wade thought hopefully, just as that riptide-pleasure came for the last of his conscious mind. _Also, it’s_ Spider-dash-Man _, ‘Gina._ Not Spiderman _. Recognize._

 

 _Well, excuuuuuuse_ moi, Vagina snarked and sniffed as they were both swept away into a sea of golden light that slowly gentled into an ocean of restful, safe darkness.

 

#

 

When Wade opened his eyes again, he was lying naked on his futon—which had been folded-out fully—half-on a small-ish, wiry, pale body which was also naked. His face rested on an under-padded shoulder and one of his hands was curled up on washboard abs. There was a warm, strong arm holding him close—possessively and protectively—and gentle breaths stirred his hair.

 

A glance down that compact body showed that Peter’s dick—apparently, the hero was a grower _and_ a show-er, because what Wade had felt prodding his ass before had been _significantly larger_ , even, than Peter's dick appeared to be while semi-flaccid—was now only half-hard. A second glance showed that Wade was in a similar state. And clean, too.

 

He smiled at Peter's thoughtfulness and consideration. “You came already,” he mumbled sleepily, closing his eyes once more and snuggling against Peter, his hand drifting up to settle over a slightly-elevated, but steady heartbeat.

 

Peter laughed, raspy and low. “Yeah. All over my spidey-tights, too. Right after _you_ came.”

 

“Mmm . . . _someone’s_ got an oral-fixation. . . .”

 

“More like someone’s got a _you_ -fixation. Which isn't to say I exactly _mind_ having a big, thick cock rammed down my throat repeatedly.” Another low laugh with that sexy rasp that Wade knew _his_ _dick_ was responsible for. “I just enjoyed it _more_ since it was _your_ big, thick cock. Oh, um, I cleaned us up with that towel that was on the arm of the futon. Hope you don’t mind.”

 

“’S cool. Chillax, Petey-pie.” Wade sighed happily, his body loose, leaden, and still tingling with orgasmic aftershocks. “Got anywhere to be, anytime soon?”

 

“Hmm . . . nope.”

 

“’S nice. You should maybe stay _here_ for a while, then,” Wade suggested sleepily, around a jaw-cracking yawn. Peter kissed the crown of his head and hugged him tighter. This close, his skin still smelled clean-sweaty, but also musky and irresistible. Wade nuzzled Peter’s shoulder, letting his lover's scent ensnare his dazzled and drained senses. “Stay with me.”

 

“Just so happens there’s no place I’d rather be than right here with you, gorgeous,” Peter murmured around a yawn of his own, and Wade smirked in a way that was _at_ _least_ eighty percent _Ms_. Vagina Saskatchewan.

 

“Careful, there, hero . . . or a girl _might_ get the idea that you’re _sweet_ on her,” she purred.

 

“Hmm, wouldn’t want _that_ , now, would we?”

 

“Totally _not_. _Terrible_ thing to have happen,” Vagina agreed as Wade subsided, tired and entirely willing to let _her_ have this afterglow with their hero. And though Vagina was practical, where Wade was sentimental, and she tended not to encourage or engage in things like _snuggling_ . . . she allowed that she wasn’t _too_ averse to _cuddling_. So, she did, tucking her face in the musky hollow between Peter’s prominent collar bone, bony shoulder, and long neck. “Just so y’know, though, Mr. Spider-Man . . . this’s _still_ not a date.”

 

That made abundantly clear, Vagina promptly dropped into a sated, satisfied sleep, Peter Spider-Man’s quiet chuckles and chuffs her lullaby.

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> Anyone got any suggestions for what they wanna see next? Form an orderly line, now. . . .
> 
> [Follow me on Tumblr](https://beetle-ships-it-all.tumblr.com/)!


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